Silence is Golden
by mercuryflame
Summary: Awaited by many, dreaded by one in particular; Harry Potter takes his first steps in the Wizarding World. But he is not exactly as expected. How will the world react to the REAL Boy-Who-Lived?
1. Prologue

Harry James Potter, hero of the wizarding world, stared forlornly through the tiny gap in his cupboard door. Rising this morning to start cooking breakfast his cousin Dudley had tripped him and Harry had smashed one Aunt Petunia's vases. Punishment as usual had been swift and unpleasant - one of Uncle Vernon's 'lessons'. Harry didn't want another one but he knew that Freaks needed correction- Uncle Vernon always said so.

Being a Freak was always getting Harry into trouble; it had definitely ruined his first day of school. Miss Bayswater hadn't realised that he was a Freak and talked and listened to him just like all the other _normal_ children. When Harry had got home Dudley complained straight away to Uncle Vernon and the light bulb had been removed from his cupboard as punishment. Harry had done his best to keep quiet and eventually it had worked, some of his freakiness must also have shown, and now Miss Bayswater paid him no attention.

Good that was good, not being noticed was good.

A shadow passed by the door and Harry flinched back violently against the wall biting his fist against the pain as the raised welts on his back throbbed with the impact. Freaks were not permitted to make noises in fact; evil didn't even deserve a voice. Uncle Vernon was quite clear about that, he muast be right as even Aunt Petunia screwed up her face and glared when he spoke.

Harry shut his eyes tight and wished to God and the tooth fairy that he wouldn't accidently make another sound and earn another 'lesson' from Uncle. He hated all lessons from uncle but especially ones with the belt. They were the ones that reminded Harry of his crimes for weeks and weeks, they were the ones which left permanent bumpy ridges on his back and not just blue black patches on his arms for a few days.

The sharp fiery pain across his back encouraged Harry to squeeze his eyes tighter and wish harder- no more noise.

Within the under stairs cupboard of number 4 privet drive a small raven haired boy huddled in a blooded heap, unaware of the bright golden light that flashed and sparkled around him. This pulsing light continued brighter and brighter then faded suddenly - plunging the cramped space back into darkness.


	2. The Other Half

Severus was stressed. Though years of practice allowed him to hide it and other revealing emotions, there were tell tale signs if one knew where to look. Nothing as pathetic as shaking hands, gritted teeth or rapid breathing; those were for the weak minded. Yet every few seconds Severus's nostrils flared slightly hinting at his increasing ire and rising blood pressure.

The sleeping draught bubbled merrily colour changing from dark green to pale lilac, indicating the last phrase of the potions process. Snape set a timer for 2 hours, sealed the cauldron to prevent any accidental spillages and checking the doors were sealed and warded allowed his mind to wander back to the cause of his worries.

….

Staff meetings were never good, Severus knew he was a private person and his lack of connections with his colleagues only served to proved it. Whilst he respected most of the other teachers and could work with them tolerably well, extended periods of contact left him annoyed and bad tempered.

Staff meetings were the worst; not only was he forced into prolonged contact with all his contemporaries - including those of whom he found brought alarming death-eater urges to the surface - but meetings before the new school year were infallibly about the hoards of snotty children that were ready to invade Hogwarts with their lack of manners and short attention spans.

No, staff meetings were very bad indeed.

When the previous week ,Dumbledore, with eyes twinkling bright enough to blind had announced the dreaded prospective 'first years' meeting would take place a week early, Severus's heart had plummeted with the sickening realisation that something was up.

He just hadn't realised how bad that something was.

FLASHBACK

Severus swept sharply into the staffroom taking care to allow his robes to billow out behind him - every opportunity to intimidate others and therefore discourage the idle prattle and chatter people otherwise felt need to subject him to the better. Everyone else was already seated and Severus took the last chair, which was, he was pleased to notice, dark blue in colour and thankfully a little separated from the others. The staffroom did contain some rather horrendous multicoloured chairs and sofas which Snape tried to avoid at all cost.

"Ahh", said the Headmaster rubbing his hands together gleefully, "everyone present and correct at last!"

Snape was rather alarmed to notice that Dumbledore was almost bouncing with childish excitement; inwardly groaning he sunk further back into his chair. Whatever the reason behind the bringing forward of the meeting he was positive it wouldn't be to his liking.

"You are all aware of course", the headmaster continued in excited tones, "that the list of the new students has arrived."

This news was met with excited whispering from most of the room and Severus valiantly held back the urge to roll his eyes. Same every year, it was just more ill behaved children to join the masses, more dangerous cretins with the chance to blow themselves up in the potions lab. No wonder he was moody all the time.

Once the room fell silent, Dumbledore spoke again, "Every year is exciting however this year we are especially lucky to be welcoming Harry Potter not only to Hogwarts but also the Wizarding world."

His heart which had remained at about shin level since hearing of the early meeting, fell further, sinking through the floor to his ingredients cupboard deep below in the castle dungeons.

"Finally", exclaimed Minerva, "I can't wait to see how turned out!"

Severus sent her a withering glare; he knew exactly how Potter would be; conceited, arrogant and utterly spoilt – a traditional pampered brat. Could he never escape the curse that seemed to be Potter?

Tactful as ever, Hooch screeched "I wonder how much he looks like James now? He was a near perfect match as a baby." This opened the floor gates for more excited chatter and Severus started to count to 30 in an attempt to keep his frustration at bay.

He hunched his shoulders higher and higher and turned his frown to 'death-glare six' as the meeting descended into nothing more than a Harry Potter adulation hour – Snape could now definitely feel a head ache coming on.

"Well", he said standing abruptly, "I sense I am no longer needed, if you would please excuse me." and made hastily for the door. There, almost there, his fingertips brushed the cold metal of the door handle.

"One moment Severus..."

Damn and Blast, he knew it was too be true. Never let it be said Albus Dumbledore did bad news by halves. With great trepidation Snape turned, drawing his robe around him like some attempt at protection. Dumbledore twinkled merrily at him, "I've been considering for some time exactly who should retrieve Mr Potter and I must say that you Severus seem to be the most sensible choice."

Snape expected for a sudden jarring to signify the end of the world at least, yet here he stood the rest of the staff matching and reflecting his utter surprise and confusion. The Headmaster merely smiled serenely and Severus narrowed his eyes to slits in response.

"I am most _certainly _not the sensible and choice and besides," he added quickly, "I have far too many vital potions to complete and very little time in which to do so."

Satisfied with his answer Snape once more turned for the door. A quick escape would be the best option for sure. He had managed to open the door half-way and could almost taste freedom when Dumbledore spoke again his voice tinted with a hard edge, "Severus my dear boy I do not believe I was making a request."

END FLASHBACK

And lo Severus had been saddled with fetching the dratted Potter boy. The usually calming task of potion making had failed miserably in helping to compose himself and the headmaster's deadline was advancing rapidly. Storming determinedly into his private chambers, Snape set about finding suitable 'muggle' clothing. He had considered simply transfiguring his current robes however with his emotions in such a mess it was risky as they spell might suddenly cut off, leaving him looking quite the fool.

Moreover transfiguration had never been his strong point; James Potter's natural talent in that particular class had seen to that. Snape sighed and swiftly pulled on the passable suit he had found at the bottom of his wardrobe. He was a little reluctant to put this precise suit on as it had last been worn to the Lily's parent's funeral. Overall the entire enterprise was turning out to be one great unwanted trip down memory lane.

Tucking his wand up his sleeve Severus made a few final adjustments to his appearance and with no little sense of foreboding stepping into the floo.

"Privet Drive"


	3. The Owl

Until the vase incident Harry had held tightly onto the hope that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been wrong somehow and that his freakiness was just a mistake. He had always dreamed that he would awake one morning to find his relative had realised their error and cleared out the spare room just ready for him. After all only Freaks lived in cupboards.

Freshly cooked breakfast would be on the table and new clothes would lie pressed and ready to wear. Needless to say no such thing ever happened and after the 'broken vase' incident, frankly, Harry gave up on the whole idea. For after that he had proof.

Only a Freak could go from fully vocally enabled to utterly silent over night; which was exactly what Harry had managed. It wasn't just 'criminally wilful disobedience' as Uncle Vernon had said after frequently failed attempts to draw sounds out of Harry; but rather a physical impossibility.

Harry had understandably been quite distressed about his sudden lack of ability to make any noise whatsoever, but like the practical child that he was, had quickly come to the realisation that nobody listened to him anyway and as with the many other difficulties he faced - decided to ignore it. His 'silence problem' also had the great advantage of preventing punishments for 'spouting rubbish' and 'snivelling pathetically' as he simply couldn't.

And so life in the Dursley household continued on much the same as before.

….

Sharp rapping on his cupboard door woke Harry from dreams of high pitched laugher and blinding green flashes of light. Brushing and errant spider's web off his face 10 soon to be 11 year old Harry Potter sat up and leant forward reaching for his glasses. After blindly searching for them for a couple of seconds Harry located tem under an old and particularly holey sock. The world quickly swam into focus as he pushed the bent and sellotaped frames up his nose.

Although Harry had not grown very much in the 10 years he'd lived with the Dursleys; his cupboard was still becoming increasingly cramped and Harry took extra care not to knock any of the numerous cleaning products off the shelves as he dressed. Beneath the shiny bottles of bleach, polish and lacquer Harry kept his 'things'.

Two plastic soldiers with missing limbs that he had rescued from the dustbin on a whim and three worn paperbacks with ripped pages and stained covers were the sum total of Harry's existence. He was reminded often that the clothes that he wore were actually Dudleys and furthermore that he should be daily grateful for such kindness.

Personally Harry felt Dudley was welcome to the baggy and frayed cast offs which hung off his undernourished frame in a ridiculous manner.

Rolling up the sleeves of his enormous shirt and tightening the belt wrapped almost thrice around his waist, Harry ducked out from within his cupboard.

He quickly walked the short distance to the kitchen taking care not to brush against any walls and inadvertently leave dirty smudges. Aunt Petunia disliked dirt smudges and mess almost as much as she disliked Harry.

As soon as he had been old enough and able to grip a spatula, Harry had cooked and made Breakfast, now he moved with well practiced fluency over the steaming hobs. The bacon and sausages popped and spat merrily as heavy footfalls heralded the arrival of Cousin Dudley.

Dudley Dursley was as fat as Harry was thin and filled the kitchen doorway easily with his porky bulk. Flipping the fried toast, Harry pondered, not for the first time, how long it would be before Dudley was physically unable to fit through the gap. Would he simply stay in one room or, more likely, would his Uncle and Aunt spend an absolute fortune to widen every door-frame in the house.

Dudley waddled to the table and manoeuvred himself onto a chair with difficulty - his extra girth hanging off the edges. Finding that there was no food in front of him; he shouted "Breakfast!" slamming his cutlery hard upon the wooden table surface repeatedly. Harry nodded dutifully and hurried to carry through a plate laden heavily with food.

The quicker the better, any damage inflicted upon the table would only result in serious punishment for Harry. Dudley damaged the table and Uncle damaged freak boy Harry. Even furniture came above Freaky little orphan brats that had been dumped upon the shoulders of well respecting families to be a 'drain' and 'burden'.

As he was cracking Uncle Vernon's forth egg into the pan, Harry glance up out of window and noticed with some surprise an owl with speckled brown feathers sitting rigidly on the back fence. Painting the fence had been one of Harry's lengthiest chores last week and he hoped the bird wouldn't scratch or excrete on the fresh, neat paint. Strange - all the books Harry had read definitely listed owls as nocturnal birds. What was one doing out in daylight, blatantly at that?

Harry's mind was swiftly torn from the oddly behaving owl in the back garden as Uncle Vernon arrived in the kitchen.

"Boy" he said, fixing Harry with a cold glare, "why do I not see my Breakfast ready for me?"

Harry hated questions like that, Uncle knew he couldn't reply yet seemed always to expect an answer. Harry was tempted to use his personal 'special' way he had discovered to communicate if it wasn't just so….freaky.

"Still _waiting_", shouted his Uncle and slammed a chubby fist onto the table provoking the cutlery and plates to jump, "don't **make** me come out there!"

Attempting to simultaneously remain in control of the cooker, Harry stuck his head out from behind the kitchen unit and bobbed it, trying desperately to convey his obedience and understanding. Uncle Vernon's forays into the kitchen never ended well for Harry – or his back.

"Counting down", commented Uncle Vernon as Harry rushed frantically to finish the last of the scrambled eggs. His last 'lesson' had only been the previous week and the results were still unhealed and sticky to touch.

Placing the crowded plate in front of his Uncle, Harry allowed himself to relax slightly; Aunt Petunia always ate far less and seemed to prefer eating separately from the other two and later.

Harry couldn't really blame her; he wouldn't want to eat opposite Dudley and Uncle Vernon as they shovelled seemingly endless quantities of food haphazardly into their mouths. The pigs Harry had once seen on a school trip to a petting farm held remarkable resemblances to both his male relatives, especially at meal times.

…..

It had been Aunt Petunia who had first noticed the owl. The glass she held slipping through her lax fingers to shatter violently into millions of tiny fragments, spread liberally across the tiles of the kitchen floor. She had turned wide eyed to Harry, as if he had personally invited the creature to invade the back garden. Harry failed to be that surprised, blame was always laid firmly at his feet.

Checking quickly to make sure Uncle Vernon's attention was still fixed upon his food; his Aunt had pushed him roughly out the back door hissing in low tones, "Get rid of it, quick, before your Uncle catches sight it of the dratted thing."

Harry didn't know what would happen _should_ Uncle Vernon espy the bird but his Aunts increasingly frenzied hand gestures suggested it wouldn't be good.

….

The bird didn't fly away as Harry approached, rather turned its head and looked directly at him with intelligent, clear beady eyes. Acting on an urge Harry stuck out his right arm and watched astonished as the owl hopped dutifully onto his wrist. Its sharp claws dug painfully into the soft flesh of Harry's arm but he ignored the discomfort in favour of tentatively stroking the creature's silky feathers. The bird seemed to enjoy the attention and learned towards Harry - seeking further caresses.

Harry was abruptly broken free of his revelry by the sound of angry banging against glass. Surprised, he jolted his arm prompting the owl to fly smartly back to the relative safety of the fence. Uncle Vernon, red faced and irate, stood gesturing at the kitchen window. Reluctant to face his infuriated relative, Harry took a final lingering glance at the interesting bird and ran quickly back to the house.

The moment he stepped through the door Vernon grabbed Harry by his hair, yanking it painfully at the roots.

"Disgusting FREAK", screamed Vernon dragging Harry through to the hall, "what have I told you before about controlling your oddities!"

Harry didn't quite understand how the owls sudden arrival was his fault, his freakiness had definitely never attracted any kind of animal or bird before, but he was nevertheless relieved when his Uncle merely flung him viciously into his cupboard; a trip upstairs only meant dire lessons and the belt. Harry was unable however to stop his heart sinking as he heard the familiar clunks of the deadbolts on the outside of his door being flicked across – he was locked in.

Amongst all the commotion, Harry did not even get a chance to notice the odd letter addressed to him in green ink lying on the doormat.

Mr. H. Potter  
>The Cupboard under the Stairs<br>4 Privet Drive  
>Little Whinging<br>Surrey


	4. The Boy

Privet Drive, to Severus, seemed to be the literal embodiment of the word 'muggle'. Squat, square houses stood in regimented lines; with spotless gardens, well-trimmed hedges and neatly painted gates. The entire area reeked of 'normal' and Severus hated it. Number 4, sat perhaps even neater and more normal than any of the other houses nearby. Its flowerbeds, well-kept riots of colour, contained no hint of any weeds or debris and the grass was cut meticulously short. It was obviously a very nosy neighbourhood; Snape felt the back of his neck prickle as he caught the sight of twitching curtains in his peripheral vision.

Severus stood before the front door, taking time to readjust his clothes and school his features blank before firmly pressing the bell. Creating a good impression would likely make the hideous debacle easier and faster. He didn't want to hang around.

A few moments later the door was yanked open abruptly by possibly the fattest child Snape had ever seen. Surely this couldn't be Harry Potter? Severus rapidly took note of the pale tufts of sandy hair, the small blue eyes and realised that it must be Dudley Dursley – Harry's cousin – who stood filling the doorframe. The boy, who in Snape's opinion closer resembled a baby whale, glared defiantly.

"Well?" he grouched in insolent tones, "What d'you want?"

Frowning slightly at the blatant discourtesy Snape replied, "I am here to speak with Mr Harry Potter."

The fat face in front of him registered surprise then morphed swiftly into a smile, "_Speak_...with Harry? You can't _speak_ with that **Freak – **what a joke!"

The child was clearly troubled in the head and Severus stepped into the doorway intent on speaking with either Petunia or her husband. Bony Petunia Evans emerged from a doorway at the end of the hall and stopped dead when she caught sight of him. Snape was almost impressed at the speed in which her faced twisted into a pinched sneer, "You! You….freak!" she stuttered.

Could no-one in this family complete a fully coherent sentence? Seriously, some more advance vocabulary wouldn't go a miss; her insults had not improved since childhood. Snape was seriously tempted to simply hex them all, snatch the child and run. Taking a few calming breaths, Severus tried to regain his temper and spoke again, this time slower.

"I am here, to speak with Mr Potter, please fetch him." Surely that should penetrate? Obviously yes, as although Petunia's glare deepened further, she still motioned him through a doorway leading to an obsessively pristine sitting room. "Wait here, I'll go retrieve him".

The overpowering odour of polish hit Snape in a wave and he struggled against the overwhelming urge to sneeze. He was just able to step inside before the door was shut firmly behind him and found himself left alone to absorb his surroundings and nurse his growing head-ache.

The walls seemed to be entirely covered in photographs and each and every surface filled with yet more picture frames. Despite the cluttered nature of the room, it shone spotlessly– unnaturally so. The almost clinical cleanliness gave Severus the desire to itch and he instead turned to scrutinise the numerous pictures, attempting to distract himself. The baby whale seemed to be featured in every photo, in varied states of development and dress. Snape was surprised to find no sign of 'Prince Potter' in any of them.

Strange.

Severus spun round as what appeared to be a scrawny 7 year old was pushed roughly into the room. Surely this tiny, nearly skeletal, child couldn't be The-Boy-Who-Lived. Petunia was smirking amusedly, "Here you are, _speak_ with the boy, you're welcome to him." Mildly confused and not quite understanding the humour of the situation Snape focused his attention on the 'thing' in front of him. The boy, Potter, the messy raven hair told Snape that much, was holding himself very rigidly and had his hands clasped so tightly together that his knuckles shone white. The clothes he wore were also rather odd; tatty, frayed, far too large and faded - they almost appeared to be cast-offs. The boy's height also caught his interest; surely Potter senior had only just been slightly shorter than Severus himself and Lily had never been categorized in any way as short. The mildly hunched shoulders, adverted eyes and small stature combined produced a very worrying sight.

Deciding not to waste any more time with the, currently, useless observation, Severus drew himself up taller and prepared to speak. He also affected a mild air of anger and no matter what he suspected; it was never too early to begin intimidating. A little healthy fear would ensure proper respect.

"I am Professor Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts, a school for young Witches and Wizards, as you were no doubt informed by the letter you received. I am here to answer any questions you may have", here Severus paused to send 'death glare two' in Potter's direction in order to ensure the brat understood that actually asking questions would prove most unwise, "and to take you to collect you supplies."

Silence reigned. Potter appeared to be very confused and the pink tinge in his cheeks also indicated that he was rather embarrassed. "Well, anything to say," Severus snapped out, he didn't have time for petulance or childish games.

The boy's cheeks flushed fully red and he flinched imperceptivity. Severus looked on in confusion as Potter stepped over to a sideboard, produced paper and pencil and wrote clearly,

I CAN'T SPEAK, I'M VERY SORRY…

Severus finally realised what had been thought so humorous, the boy couldn't talk; this was a major shock to say the least. Unusual too as he was sure he'd heard tales of the infant Potter's early exploits into spoken language; perhaps it was an extremely unlucky but likely side effect of the Dark Lord's spell, although surely someone would have noticed? Such thoughts could be pondered on later and Snape returned his attention to the scrap of paper.

AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY LETTER?

_Mmmmm,_ Snape would be having words with 'Dear Petunia' and felt his fingers twitch towards his wand involuntarily at the mere idea. When Lily had received her Hogwarts letter, to say Petunia Evans had been disgruntled would have been the understatement of the century. He wouldn't be surprised if her disgusting and loathing of anything magic hadn't continued on as strongly as ever.

First thing first though; Severus drew out a second copy of the Hogwarts letter from his inside pocket and handed it to Potter. He noticed with some concern that as he put his arm out, the boy flinched once again and subconsciously leant back. Surely not? Name calling was one thing but... Snape felt his many preconceived notions about the boy begin to crack and falter.

He decided to defer such thoughts to when he had more time and as an alternative and instead observed as Harry Potter carefully opened his letter.

Severus watched as a wide range of emotions flittered briefly over the boy's face before it shuttered and he once again reached for the paper and scribbled away furiously. Potter approached him carefully, as one might a wild and unpredictable animal, stretching out a slightly trembling hand, he tentatively passed over the paper once more.

IT MUST BE WRONG, I AM NO WIZARD, I'M A FREAK INSTEAD.

A second alarm bell sounded clearly in Severus's head and he was flung brutally back to his childhood, where sharp face 'Tuny Evans had catcalled both him and Lily from behind the safety hedge next to the park. No closer or she might be infected by their 'Freakiness'.

Returning from his memories Snape noticed that Potter was now tugging at his lip with his teeth and shuffling his feet back and forth nervously. Unable to affect either 'calming' or 'sympathetic' Severus settled instead for 'businesslike'.

"Mr Potter please take a seat", he said, indicating one of the highly floral sofas; he even reached down to pat the cushion reassuringly for good measure. The boy however, jumped back sharply as if burnt, startling Snape somewhat and shaking his head frantically, Potter offered him another sheet of paper.

YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!

For all his noble intentions, Severus Snape was beginning see the end of his tether in sight; he was after all in the suburban home of the woman who had helped to make his childhood a misery, trying to have an ,albeit one sided, conversation with the spawn of James Potter. Gesturing more firmly at the sofa, Snape bit out in acerbic tones, "No Mr Potter it is _you_ who does not understand. I asked you to sit so I may have the opportunity to explain further. Now SIT DOWN."

As Severus shouted the last two words he saw Potter stand firmly to attention, close his eyes tightly and raise his left hand, in a fist, to the world famously scarred forehead. What was the child doing now? The entire household must simply exist for the purpose of provoking him. Severus switched to 'death glare eight', which hadn't been unleashed since an incident between the Weasley twins and his ingredients cupboard two years ago, and prepared to release some of his growing ire upon the impossible and disobedient child.

All thought and or anger stopped dead however, as the Boy-Who-Lived- to-Frustrate stuck out his palm stubbornly in Severus's direction.

There, engraved on the boy's palm, glinting brightly in gold letters were the words,

SEE, A DISGUSTING FREAK

The now rather despondent child returned the fist to his forehead and when he stretched it out again Snape who forced to do a double take as the words changed right before his disbelieving eyes,

THIS PROVES IT!


	5. The Man

**I'm sorry this Chapter took so long, I found it really quite hard to write for some reason! Therefore also apologies for the shorter length and (likely) lower quality.**

* * *

><p>The incident with the strange owl was evidently not forgotten.<p>

Over the next week Harry's chore list doubled, whilst his food allowance halved. Hunger was suddenly Harry's constant companion and even filling up on water didn't seem to help ease the twisting pain in his middle.

At the same time he noticed that his Aunt and Uncle took to waiting until they were inside before they disciplined and punished him, almost as if they thought someone was watching. Harry thought this behaviour was a little odd; he knew well that correcting and curbing his abnormities was something that must be done – nothing to hide.

On a more unpleasant note, Uncle Vernon's 'lessons' seemed to increase tenfold and Harry was soon even more stiff and achy than normal as Uncle repeatedly tried to 'teach' the Freakiness out of him. Though he knew it was necessary, Harry wished there were a more effective and less painful method of making him 'normal'.

….

By Wednesday morning, Harry was almost relieved to be back locked in his cupboard.

Although the evidence of Uncle Vernon's teaching could be both seen and felt plainly; it was obvious to Harry that his Uncle's best efforts had not succeeded. Odd golden words still shone brightly out of his palm and arm when he focused hard. Even the mass of black and purple bruises failed to obscure the writing in anyway.

It was an ability that Harry had discovered shortly after the start of his silence, when Uncle Vernon had been dealing out a particularly vicious 'lesson'. The belt had reopened recently healed wounds and Harry had screamed out in agony. Of course no sound actually emerged but instead he had felt a mild burn on the inside of his arm and the words, STOP PLEASE STOP had appeared.

Harry had been so shocked that he had unintentionally fallen to the floor, landing painfully in a small heap. Fortunately Uncle Vernon had taken that action as a sign of defeat and soon flung him back in his cupboard.

Occasionally, Harry briefly toyed with the idea that he might be 'special'; however the thought that anything special could be an 'ungrateful' orphan or living in a cupboard was frankly ridiculous; so such ideas were swiftly discarded.

…..

Many people would consider being locked in a small, dark, enclosed space daunting or frightening. Harry on the other hand found it relaxing; no chores, no trouble, no opportunity to get into trouble. The ultimate escape. Therefore when his Aunt had opened the door suddenly and dragged him out, Harry couldn't help but worry. His sense of foreboding sky rocketed when she led him towards the Sitting Room – an area of the house he was forbidden to enter, unless to clean. Harry assumed Dudley had somehow made a mess or damaged something in there and blamed it on Harry.

However upon entering the room Harry saw, instead of a terrible chaos, a man. A rather serious looking and deeply, frowning man. Aunt Petunia had thrown a comment about speaking to him before she shut the door firmly, leaving him alone with the foreboding stranger.

From his quick darting glances, Harry could see that, although he hid it quite well, the man was impatient, quite uncomfortable and clearly as glad as Harry to be there. He had thick, rather lank, black hair which hung straight down to his shoulders and covered a large part of his face. Whilst Harry didn't dare look at the man straight in the eyes, he nevertheless noted that his nose was rather crooked, almost as if it had been broken many times.

Harry wondered if this intimidating man was here to discipline him or perhaps take him to an orphanage –he'd been threatened with that many times, the owl must have been the final straw. He clenched his hands together to cease their trembling and held himself very still.

As the man, Professor Snape, began to speak Harry could feel his cheeks start to flush. He clearly didn't know that Harry physically _couldn't _talk. Worse, the professor seemed to be getting increasingly infuriated by his silence. Desperate not to incur the man's wrath, simmering so obviously just beneath the surface; Harry snatched up a piece of paper and wrote in clear capitals-

I CAN'T SPEAK, I'M VERY SORRY…

AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY LETTER?

The Professor seemed to be extremely stunned and his face reflected this much, the foreboding frown replaced with an almost comical look of wide-eyed shock. He recovered quickly though, returned his face to a slight scowl and sticking his hand inside his jacket pocket, removed a small letter with Harry's name written on it in bright green ink.

Harry couldn't help but flinch slightly and lean away as the Professor extended his arm out towards him. From the slightly calculating look on the man's face, Harry guessed his inadvertent action had been noticed and fixed his attention on the strange letter in order to hide his growing nerves.

As he skimmed through the letter the words 'wizard', 'magic' and 'spells' jumped out in particular at Harry. This was wrong, very wrong; they seemed to have gotten his freakiness mixed up with this magic…stuff. Harry had to correct the Professor, if they found out later just how wrong they were the consequences were likely to be dire.

His next note seemed to have quite an effect on the Professor and he seemed to gaze rather unfocused into the middle distance. As the seconds ticked by Harry got increasingly edgy, when the man finally did focus on him again it didn't appear that he understood what Harry was trying to say. He even went so far as to invite Harry to sit down for a chat, like one might do with a 'normal' individual.

Harry jumped backwards, in case Professor Snape decided to reach out for him and frantically wrote,

YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!

Now that appeared to finally draw the man's anger out and Harry decided it was best just to show him what he meant. He would surely regret it later but all the same he closed his eyes and focused. Feeling the slight burn on the inside of his arm Harry knew it had worked and stretched his palm out towards the still fuming Professor.

Having now shown all his cards; Harry waited with baited breath for the proverbial axe to fall.

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><p><strong>Please Review! They are always wonderfully encouraging...<strong>


	6. The Truth

In all his years as death-eater, spy and teacher, Snape could barely remember being more shocked. He had thought the boy being mute had been a surprise.

Galvanising his mind back into action with some effort, Severus returned to the more pressing matter of the clearly terrified child in front of him. "Really Mr Potter, calm down. You have already adequately disproved your own theory. What is the writing on your arm, if not an example of Magic?" Potter seemed to move to disagree but Severus decided it was time to assert his authority and get moving. He would have an entire year to convince the boy and investigate the strange phenomenon that was Potter's golden writing.

"I can perform magic too Mr Potter, are you calling ME a freak?" Potter shook his head violently and held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture; Snape acknowledged that at least the child wasn't deliberately rude. The boy gestured questioningly at his arm, the writing now faded slightly, and Severus replied with care, "I will admit to your…condition being a little unusual; but it is most likely just a particularly powerful manifestation of accidental magic."

Severus didn't feel the need to tell Potter just how strong such magic and therefore the wizard would have to be, no need for him to get big headed. The boy appeared as if he wanted to argue but obviously didn't dare, instead wrote,

BUT HOW AM I GOING TO PAY FOR THIS SCHOOL? I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY!

No money! The Potter vault was infamous!

"Mr Potter your family vaults are very well stocked, if the rumours are to be believed, what is more your school fees were paid as soon as you were born."

This was evidently news to the boy, if the staggered look on his face was anything to go by. Just how little had he been told? Albus had always insisted it be better for the 'Golden Child' to be kept in the dark and well away from the wizarding world, but surely not this far.

Potter was writing again and Severus craned his neck to read it.

HOW? MY PARENTS WERE DRUNKEN WASTRELS WHO GOT THEMSELVES KILLED IN A CAR CRASH!

"CAR CRASH!" Severus exploded; whilst he could definitely allow such a slur to fall on the deceased James Potter - Lily was a different matter. How dare Petunia and her husband defile Lily's memory in such a way?

"Your parents were NOT drunkards and they most certainly did NOT die in a car crash!"

At this Potter seemed to lose his inhabitations and instead of writing on the fiddly scraps of paper, conveyed his thoughts on his arm.

HOW THEN?

Severus was about to reply; when it occurred to him that the story he was about to tell would require a slightly more delicate touch than him, simply bawling the information across the room at the boy. Furthermore, the child was obviously still tense and stood balanced on the balls of his feet; ready for flight at the first sign of anger.

Making a conscious effort to calm down, relax and appear less threatening; Snape took a seat on the gaudy sofa furthest from Potter. From what he had witnessed so far, nothing would get done if he crowded the boy.

"Mr Potter I will tell you exactly what you need to know IF you do not interrupt." Looking directly at the child, Severus saw Potter nod jerkily in cautious agreement and preparing himself mentally, started.

"10 years ago, around the time in which you were born, a dark wizard by the name of", here Snape paused. Obviously he knew of the generally acknowledged taboo connected with saying the name Voldemort (you would have to have been living on the moon not to) but alas it was not this which had momentarily stopped him. For if a death-eater, spy or otherwise, was to speak Lord Voldemort's name out loud and not use the more 'respectful' title of Dark Lord, they earned punishment through their 'Dark Marks'.

The abomination had been gone - missing - for the last decade and yet he was still able to reach out and inflicted pain and misery.

From previous experience, Severus knew the 'punishment' was quite severe and therefore felt quite justified in steeling himself, before he continued.

"Voldemort!" There, viscous pain slashed doggedly up from his wrist to his shoulder, Severus had to strongly resist the urge to clutch at his arm in utter agony. Already it seemed the next generation of Potter was causing him harm.

"Or 'he-who-must-not-be-named' had risen to power. People, such as your parents, fought against him and were consequently targeted by him and his supporters. On the night of the 31st of October 'he-who-must-not-be-named arrived' at your family home in Godric's Hollow and killed your parents. He also attempted to kill you."

Snape quickly held up a hand to stem Potters obvious oncoming outburst, "No-one knows _how_ exactly, but he was unable to kill you; in fact the curse which he used rebounded and destroyed him instead. You are therefore to be considered _famous_ and universally recognized in the wizarding world," Snape finished with a sneer.

Potter seemed to consider for a few seconds then asked,

SO HE'S DEAD THEN?

Severus sighed, "No Mr Potter, whilst many are under that impression, I and selected others believe he will return."

The boy seemed to deflate,

AND WHEN HE DOES HE'LL BE AFTER ME. RIGHT?

Rather taken aback by Potter's shrewd and frighteningly accurate insight, Snape replied automatically in the affirmative. He was curious to notice that, whilst the boy did seem a little…disappointed, he did not look in the least perturbed about the actual threat of an insane megalomaniac rising from the 'dead' and hunting him down. Severus decided to put it down to the foolish Gryffindor bravado the child was likely brimming with.

Severus did not want to continue discussing the subject; the boy should really being talking with someone who had NOT been a death-eater - perhaps Minerva - who could fill his head with stories of his disruptive and obnoxious father. Certainly Potter shouldn't be learning the truth about his parents 'noble' deaths from a man who had spent a large majority of the war grovelling at the feet of a mad man.

As a result Snape waited for only a few seconds, in which the child _could_ have asked another question, before changing the topic.

"I shall briefly speak with your relatives before we leave to acquire your supplies."

Potter seemed slightly worried at this announcement but nonetheless replied 'YES' and followed Severus (leaving a noticeably large gap between them) out of the door. Locating quickly, what seemed to be the kitchen Snape set his face to death-glare seven and dramatically swept in – he had a few bones to pick with Petunia.

"Now that Mr Potter has been told the TRUTH about his parent's death and his magical abilities," Severus spat out snidely, "I will be taking him to purchase his school supplies. I expect some of my colleagues to be visiting soon – just to see how you're doing"

He watched in satisfaction as Petunia's face paled considerably; then preceded to obverse with ,well hidden, glee the remaining colour drain from her bony cheeks as he mentioned (the entirely fictional) impeding visit. Snape was absolutely certain the last thing Petunia wanted was the arrival of more abnormal 'wizard's'.

The baby whale, eating a bowl of trifle did not bother to raise his head from the sickly desert.

"Fine, it's not like we wanted the Freak in the first place" spat Petunia, she peered round Severus and spoke directly to Harry, "Your lucky boy! That your Uncle's not here!" Recognising the veiled threat Snape restrained the urge to hex the stupid woman in the face. Potter did not seem so controlled, appearing to shiver slightly and if it was possible, hold himself tighter. The warning bells rung once again, and Severus quickly filed the new scrutiny in the same place as the others.

Seemingly encouraged by the lack of response Petunia continued,

"Burden on my family, you should have died with your abnormal parents!" she pointed a crooked finger at Snape's chest, "You and your kind can go to hell, utter freaks the lot of you!"

At this Severus really did draw out his wand; a childhood full of resentments bubbling to the surface, begging to be release with a couple of well aimed crucio's. It was people such as the Dursleys, who gave the pure blood's wild claims of magical superiority some basis. Who would be so stupid as to insult a fully trained wizard to their face? Really it was a wonder Petunia and her son could breathe and move at the same time, their brain function was so low.

Pointing the ebony shaft of his trusty wand in her horsey face, Severus spoke in low clear tones, "I would suggest most categorically, that you do not insult me so blatantly again. This was your first and last warning Petunia." Vindictively pleased at the look of fear on her face, Snape praised himself for a job well done.

"Now if you don't _mind,_ Mr Potter and I shall be leaving."

Petunia opened her mouth as if to argue, then obviously thinking better of it, settled instead for a narrow eyed glare. Severus, employing years of practice in the face of angered students, utterly scorned her pathetic attempt at intimidation and instead ushered Potter out of the front door.

Privet Drive was now overcast and grey; moreover Snape thought he could feel a few drops of rain. Therefore anxious to get moving Severus did not bother to waste precious time explaining to the boy what he was about to do; instead he grabbed Potter's shoulder, ignoring the boy's brutal flinch, and apperated straight to the Leaky Cauldron.


	7. The Alley

I'm sorry this took so long. I was unfortionatly quite ill for a while and meanwhile had tonnes of coursework sneak up on me... Anyway with exams approaching updateing will be quite rare I'm afraid :( Sorry

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><p>As Professor Snape ushered him through the front door, Harry's head spun with the mass of new and frankly startling information. The good-bye promise-threat by Aunt Petunia weighed heavily however.<p>

Excited as he felt by the thought of this 'Hogwarts' school and the shopping trip, his nerves tingled frighteningly. What was going to happen when he eventually returned to number 4? There was no doubt that Aunt Petunia would tell Uncle Vernon as soon as he returned from work and Harry had to battle fiercely with a wave of all consuming panic - just imaging the upcoming explosive reaction caused the welts on Harry's back to throb.

A fat drop of rain landed on Harry's nose and he hope they wouldn't have far to walk, his clothes were not very warm and the weak sun had failed to break through the thick cloud cover that smothered Little Winging.

He was just wondering how they were going to travel, Harry could see no sign of a car, when the Professor stretched out a pale arm towards him.

Harry desperately fought the urge to panic as the Professor grabbed his shoulder with a worn and callused hand. The touch burned as the man seemed to lay his palm exactly over the dark bruise Uncle Vernon had made whilst dragging Harry up the stairs last week.

He was not able to dwell on the sudden outburst of agony for long, as suddenly overwhelming pressure crushed him from all sides. Harry felt as though he was being squeezed into a very tiny, thin tube and was oddly reminded his cupboard.

The feeling became stronger and Harry thought he would surely be crushed, crushing and he could almost feel his eye balls being forced deeper into his skull, Professor Snape's grip tighten painfully and with a twist Privet Drive disappeared from sight.

…..

Harry landed with a thud on a cold stone pavement and with a swimming head fell straight onto his knees. The limited food he had consumed at dawn crept slowly back up his throat and he fought the urge to simply throw it up. What a fine mess that would be, he was certain Professor Snape was not a man who appreciated vomit all over his person.

If that was magic Harry felt himself quite justified in thinking it both freaky and wrong. The ground in front of him wobbled and swayed causing Harry to clench his eyes shut and grit his teeth firmly. The professor didn't say anything and Harry wondered whether he had been left behind; it would not have been the first time.

But no - Harry opened his eyes cautiously and was greeted with the sight of smart shiny black boots and the bottom of a cloak thick woollen cloak. He didn't want to look up and stare into those disdainful eyes and instead chose to struggle to his feet quickly and efficiently. The less of a nuisance he was the less likely the Professor would get mad. Professor Snape, Harry felt sure, was a man who would get 'mad' very well indeed.

"Congratulations Potter, you have just completed your first journey by apparition." The comment was mildly sarcastic but Harry didn't really feel the need to be insulted by it. After all the Professor was a fully trained wizard and he a mere boy, moreover while the tone of voice hadn't been pleasant it lacked the truly foreboding bite Uncle Vernon's contained.

Taking a moment in which to steady himself Harry began to look around subtly from behind his fringe. The area in which they had 'apperated' was not the kind of place the Dursleys would have been seen dead in. Over flowing rubbish bins sat at regular intervals along the street and every other window seemed to be either broken to boarded up. Shattered glass was scattered liberally along the kerb and Harry felt quite lucky he hadn't accidently knelt in it before.

Only one building stood out significantly, a small shabby looking pub with a creaking sign depiction a cauldron that squatted snugly between Baxter's wholesaler and Number 46 'knock please – bell broken'. Obviously satisfied that he was ready to move Professor Snape headed towards the pub, clearly expecting Harry to follow closely.

…...

Stepping through the door Harry was hit by a powerful odour, a curious mix of old musty damp and freshly baked goods that made his mouth water and stomach turn at the same time. Men and Women in clothes similar to the Professors sat at tables chatting and eating, meanwhile utterly ignoring the tables wiping themselves with cloths and the mugs stirring themselves gently. Harry couldn't help but gape at such unusual and obviously magical sights and didn't notice his mouth had fallen open until the Professor had snapped that he would, "let flies in."

As the Professor Snape they him through the tight crowd of cloaked people Harry fought the urge to grasp the back of the Professor cloak. Harry really didn't want anyone to knock into him accidently and felt ridiculously reassured by the Professor. However he assumed that such behaviour would be seen as childish and not appreciated. Settling instead for walking right in the mans heels; Harry kept his eyes lowered and fixed on the ground. To either side he caught tantalising snatches of conversation, 'Pixies he said, like I didn't know they were Pixies, what kind of witch does he take me for! Next thing he won't think I'll know the correct spell' and 'No I'm sure I found it in Magwhumps emporium, only 4 sickles as well, a bargain' other odd words added to the jumble , quidditch, aurors, goblins, howlers and Harry soon began to feel overwhelmed.

When the Professor suddenly stopped abruptly, Harry slammed straight into his back and expected the Professor to turn on him angrily for being so clumsy, when nothing happened Harry leaned warily round the Professor to see what had happened.

"Quirrel," sneered Professor Snape, nodding slightly in acknowledgment to a man in purple robes and matching turban who stood awkwardly in front of them. The man 'Quirrel' seemed to be constantly twitching and replied with a stuttering "Sss ss se sev Severus" before flickering his gaze to land directly on Harry. Quirrel's eyes widened, almost comically, as he zeroed in on Harry's forehead and Harry recoiled slightly as a stinging sensation darted through his scar. He noticed that the Professor was watching the interaction keenly with narrowed eyes.

"Harry Potter", Quirrel whispered so softly that Harry barely caught the words. Although he was used to people staring at him for one reason or another Harry was becoming slightly uncomfortable with the intense gaze the oddly turbaned man was levelling upon him and ducked back behind the Professor. Snape gave him a slightly odd look but nevertheless closed the conversation.

"Yes this is Harry Potter and yes I am purchasing his school equipment; now I'm sure you'll understand the great rush that I am in. If you will excuse us Quirinus."

As the Professor lead him away Harry felt the man 'Quirrel's' stare burning a hole in the back of his head and his scar stung anew savagely. From experience however Harry knew moaning got him no where and instead shook his head fiercely to clear it.

Finally they reached a small wooden door which when the Professor had opened it revealed a small box courtyard with red brick walls and seemingly no exits. Although a little confused, Harry decided the strange yard was secondary to the man they had just met.

Stretching his arm out gingerly and tapping the Professor tentatively to catch his attention Harry thought;

SIR, WHO WAS THAT MAN?

Mentally kicking himself Harry quickly tagged on

IF YOU DON'T MIND ME ASKING

The Dursleys had forbidden Harry from asking questions and as he didn't yet know Professor Snape's rules, Harry didn't want to push his luck.

He thought he caught a sharp flash of surprise upon the Professors normally glaring countenance but it was so fleeting that he couldn't be sure and therefore dismissed it.

Drawing what Harry assumed was his wand and tapping random bricks on the far wall Snape replied, "That man is Professor Quirrel and will be your Defence against the Dark arts teacher at Hogwarts." Harry didn't know much about magic but the twitching stuttering Professor Quirrel didn't really seem the type to be a defence against anything. The Professor must have guessed what he had been thinking as he narrowed his eyes and gave Harry a warning look, tapping one last brick perfunctorily and tucking his 'wand' back up his spacious sleeves.

"Surprising perhaps but they do say one should never judge a book by its cover," he commented, the Professor had taken on an almost thoughtful tone and Harry wasn't sure if he was actually talking to him at all anymore. He darted a quick look into the mans face and noticed instead of the customary glare an expression of deep concentration was set firmly upon his features. Harry returned his eyes to the floor quickly encase the Professor caught him looking. Eye contact was strictly prohibited, Harry had been 'taught' that well.

He couldn't however stop his gaze from snapping up when the wall which Professor Snape had just been tapping was starting to shake and Harry stared in amazement as the bricks began to slide apart to create a doorway. Professor Quirrel and his stutter were quickly forgotten as Harry gazed at a thin single width lane jammed packed with crooked shops and stalls that the bricks had revealed. To call it bustling would have been an understatement and his heart thudded loudly in his chest with excitement.

Leading him into the busy throng the Professor announced with sarcastic tones "This Mr Potter is Diagon Alley!"


	8. The Bank

The boy who continued to surprise him finally seemed to act appropriately and stare goggle eyed at the hideously packed and jostling scene that was Diagon Alley. After landing from the apparition Snape had expected some kind of complaint or at least a demand for explanation or assistance. Instead Potter Jr had taken care of himself, picked himself up and generally not needed any assistance.

That was good- just how Severus wanted it. No need for unnecessary contact between him and James Potters spawn. He carefully ignored the flashing neon light in his head which proclaimed loudly that Potter was also Lily's child. At least Potter had seemed suitably amazed at the leaky cauldron; Snape had fully prepared himself for the boy to run, or at least wander, off. By contrast Severus had discovered himself with human limpet and to his horror had almost felt the child itching to grab the back of his cloak. Fortunately, forcible removal measures had not been necessary and instead the abnormal child had dogged his foot steps closely, eyes fix on the ground, shoulder instinctively hunched. Self Protection.

Snape had once again violent repressed the personal memories such actions dragged to the forefront of his mind. Morbid speculation would have to wait till later.

Meeting Quirinus had been….interesting. His affect on Potter however, had been slightly disconcerting. Obviously the recently returned DADA Professor merited close watching. Severus had noticed a distinct and not all together pleasant change in the man since his sabbatical leave. Nothing immediately eye catching, but to a war hardened spy like himself enough to be concerned over.

Even odder had been Potters retreat behind him, as if the boy had somehow felt 'protected' or 'safe' in Severus's presence. This was quite a shock - although Snape reminded himself reassuringly that it may simply be a case of better the devil you know.

Snape had fully expected a barrage of questions about the entrance to Diagon Alley and enjoyed preparing to feel quite smug when he showed the ignorant nitwit the secret, yet not really complicated, entrance. Instead Severus had been tackled with a rational question about Quirrel; an action he found surprisingly intelligent. Either the DADA professor had affected Potter more than he had thought or the boy was actually thinking logically. Considering the latter option to be highly unlikely; Severus decided to leave the Potter conundrum to a later date and direct his attention upon Quirrel. As ridiculous as it made him seem, something about the man sent (well disguised) shivers through his bones and more importantly straight through his dark mark.

…...

Deciding he was merely delaying the inevitable, Severus stepped out into the large crowds that filled the narrow alley. Everyone as usual seemed to have left school supply shopping to the very last minute and Severus notched up his death glare in order to clear a pathway through the streets.

As expected Potter followed closely like a faithful puppy, almost snapping on his heels. Though Snape was pleased that it would be unlikely he would have to track down an errant and wandering Potter; he admitted privately that a little more personal space would be preferable. It seemed to be peculiar behaviour indeed; weren't young boys meant to have the attention span of horned slugs and unable to do anything without becoming distracted. Potter was definitely not displaying such behaviour patterns and rather appeared to be introverted. Although, Snape mused, if he had spent his childhood actually living with Petunia, it was likely he too would have become a little strange in the head.

Whilst Severus ruled sentimentality to be the preserve of drivelling fools and ideological do-gooders like Albus he did enjoy the wide eyed amazement on Potters face a little. For one moment Lily's features flashed before his eyes, her face a picture of astonishment too as a much younger Severus showed her for the first time the levitation spell.

The grand front entrance of Gringotts, complete with white columns and fine carvings, appeared eventually at the end of the street. Middle aged matronly witches who seemed to have nothing better to do it seemed than block the street with their snotty nosed offspring bustled passed muttering items from Hogwarts lists under their breath. The bank towered above the stumpy wooden shops that cluttered up Diagon Alley and made quite a magnificent sight. However if the boy was impressed with the view he didn't show it; preferring to move as close to Snape as was humanly possible without actually touching him and almost cowering from the other members of the public who hurried past without a backwards glance.

A tight schedule allowed Severus to once again ignore the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Different's weird performance and proceed onwards into Gringotts. As usual the pint sized Goblins managed to look down upon him condescendingly, even with their small statures. Severus surreptitiously took mental notes on the most scornful sneers of the various Goblins to add to his repertoire. Pride and Conceit were one thing, self-possession and superior intellect were another all together.

Tricky and generally unpleasant to deal with; Goblins nevertheless demanded and deserved respect, something they little received from most wizard kind. Having been heavily trampled upon continuously through out his life, Severus fully understood their righteous anger and made it his duty to act accordingly. This approach was proved quite fruitful as he managed to acquire a Goblin to lead him straight to the Potter vault, unlike the red faced bigot at the stall adjacent who had been shouting nonsense about the superiority of wizard kind and consequently getting no-where.

As they climbed carefully into the wooden plank cart Severus felt the need to warn Potter, "you have managed to keep the contents of your stomach thus far, to fail now would be a shame." He accompanied the comment with a smirk and felt satisfied when the boy replied succinctly with focused frown:

YES SIR

Potter wasn't really acting very…Potterish but Severus decided to dwell on it later. Anything fast moving earned itself the Snape seal of disapproval and he clutched the wooden edges of the cart hard as it rattled along the suspended track. This could possibly be classed even worse than riding a broom, on the upside however the Boy-Who-Lived was wearing a tentative smile – the first Severus had seen on him. It was small but definitely recognisable as a smile. Good…progress thought Severus briefly proceeding immediately to mentally swat himself. His purpose was to assist the boy in buying his equipment and getting to Hogwarts; once completed he could quite rightly wash his hands of the child.

Any pleasure he had gleaned from this observation was lost quickly as the infuriating brat decided to lean precariously out over the edge. Snape was forced to remove one of his hands from safety of the rail and snatch the back of Potter's baggy t-shirt. What was he thinking!

Not bothering to rein in his temper Snape yanked hard and hissed "I suggest you remain very still for the rest of the journey Mr Potter. Are you capable of that much or do you need a quick lesson?" Dumping Harry back on the bench Severus returned his hand to the side as quickly as possible and re-focused on keeping his stomach convincingly settled.

Potter was now sitting still, perfectly still and rigid as a board. Snape limbered up like an athlete to prepare to snap at him for insolence. He noticed with some surprise that The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Give-Him-A-Heart-Attack had his fists clenched tightly in his lap and was struggling to control his now heavy breathing, chest rising and falling rapidly. Every other second, the boy's eyes would flicker swiftly in his direction, almost evaluating his mood and calculating his every movement. Severus felt brief flicker guilt before dismissing it – good, the boy needed to realise that he, Severus Snape, resident greasy bat of the dungeon was not a man to be trifled with.

...

He barely managed to hold in his sigh of relief when the cart finally stopped and had to strictly refrain himself from smiling inanely at the solid stationary surface beneath his feet. Severus noticed he needn't have bothered as Potter was clearly ignoring him in favour of watching the Goblin as he open the vault in front. The proud golden inscription of Potter beamed brightly from on top of the huge metal studded door, how ostentatious, the Prince vault was far more sophisticated.

As the door finally swung open Potter took a small inadvertent step back in shock and Snape was hard pressed not to do the same. Hundreds upon hundreds of Gallons stood neatly in tall stacks with Sickles and Knuts scatter casually among them. Along one wall sat six or seven sturdy wooden chests each locked and glowing slightly from protection charms. Random pieces of jewellery dotted with glinting stones lay haphazardly as if they had been flung into the vault indifferently. The immense size of the fortune was physically overwhelming.

ALL THIS IS MINE?

Snape was dragged back from his revelry by the newly discovered Croesus beside him, relieved somewhat to see the boy looked as stunned as he did.

Whilst Severus was managing to ignore many blatant indicators very well indeed; the pitiful state of Potters clothes refused to be disregarded. For all his stubborn prejudice he could acknowledge that monetarily at least, the boy had been deprived, and as such the fortune flaunting itself before them was both a miracle and a kick in the teeth. If he had know of the Prince vault when he was young; Severus knew he would have wanted to purchase himself some new clothes instead of the ridiculous baggy old smocks of his father's he had been forced to wear.

"If Mr Potter would collect his withdrawal" the croaky voice of the Goblin broke through the silence and seeing Potter was making no move to do so Severus leant forward and scooped a large handful of random coins into a large leather pouch.

He pulled the strings sharply and pressed the bag into the boys hands. "Look after this carefully, you have money indeed but don't let it go to your head" Severus warned gravely; the last thing he needed was another arrogant toe rag throwing money round like confetti.

NO SIR

Good, the boy seemed suitably attentive; this was one Potter at least who wouldn't flaunt his excessive wealth over him. Hmmm goody another cart ride! As he climbed gingery back into the wooden death trap; Severus considered carefully where to visit first. Buying a wand straight away would inevitably lead to the boy injuring himself or worse others as he waved it around foolishly; better to purchase the mundane such as books and robes first the wizarding world wasn't all foolish wand waving after all.

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><p><strong>Sorry this took so long! Reviews etc are always greatly <strong>**appreciated...**

**:) **


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